Our goal was to explore the limits of a high-performance canopy pilot docking with a wingsuit flyer in freefall. The idea had been around for a while, but we wanted to do it in new ways that showed it could be developed as a discipline and not just advertised as a stunt.
Up late one night working on a funding proposal, I dubbed the effort “Project XRW” (Extreme Relative Work). It stuck. The first round featured Jonathan Tagle of the Performance Designs Factory Team under a 71-square-foot Velocity, surfing on the back of Jeff Nebelkopf flying his TonySuit X Bird wingsuit. The project logo had their names emblazoned across the letters XRW: Tagle. Nebelkopf.
It wasn’t until a few months later during the next iteration of the project that I aimed my own TonySuit X Bird in the direction of the PD Factory Team’s only female canopy pilot, Jessica Edgeington. She had bright pink nail polish on, her hand waving at me to come in closer as I balanced on the outside of my performance range in the wingsuit, trying not to screw up.
We became the first women to do XRW, but we hadn’t even met until we were on the verge of attempting what then seemed nearly impossible (or at least, very dangerous). It’s a hell of a way to meet your future best friend, midair at high speed wearing various forms of nylon and trying to hold hands.
Those names never appeared on a logo. Not that we cared. As we navigated the high-testosterone dynamics of that week, we both enjoyed laughing at the very masculine world we inhabited and thrived in. Mostly, we wanted the same leeway to train and achieve as the men around us.
When we narrowly missed the surf dock on the very first try, the guys were quick to pull the photographer away from us, worried it would be a waste if we took too long to figure it out (we nailed it on the very next jump).
We grew to be more than just dropzone buddies. We created, for and with each other, a safe place to share, bond, and vent about the often ridiculous challenges we faced. We spent time at each other’s family homes, planned weekends away together, and helped each other unconditionally through some very tough times. She once played the ukelele and sang to me while we sat on the banks of Walden Pond after a long swim.
We were both serious about our skydiving, and struggled with the frustrations (unspeakable and unspoken in public, of course) of being women in our professional environment. But we never stopped laughing about it all, and using humor to keep each other afloat. Years after Project XRW’s initial success, we still started calls, voicemails, and text messages by intoning each other’s last name. If spoken, we went for either a wrestling-announcer voice or an evening news-anchor persona, no matter how mundane the subject matter following.
“Edgeington. What time do you get off work?”
“Weiss. Mark and I are raising a baby… squirrel!”
“Edgeington. Shit’s hitting the fan. May drunk dial you later.”
“Weiss. I almost had a meltdown.”
“Edgeington. Time for a weekend catch-up.”
In April, I got a call from the scene as soon as it happened. There was no filter, no lead-in, just the words: “Jess went in.”